


Fuck Geralt of Rivia (what an asshole)

by NarahLer



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Everyone's gay, Hurt, Jaskier needs a hug, Magic, Monsters, The Witcher (Netflix) - Freeform, Witchers, buckle in boys, cba with him dying at 40 of consumption, ciri will be a part of this, geralt is an idiot and also emotionally stunted, hopefully things will get better, i'll read the books at some point i promise, it's gonna be a long one, jaskier/dandelion is my sweet baby boy, let's try and help him, maybe or maybe not, no beta we die like men, oh my, spoiler: my jaskier isn't human, tags/characters/relationships/ratings to be changed/added/updated, yennefer's a queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarahLer/pseuds/NarahLer
Summary: I love Jaskier with my whole heart, Geralt and Yennefer require emotional support. Ciri will probably end up with two dads and a wine aunt. Who knows? Not me, I haven't written this yet but I hope you enjoy it anyway.They all deserve better, so let's see if I can't fuck this up too badly.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Please enjoy this teaser for Fuck Geralt of Rivia ^.^
> 
> No, I haven't abandoned my hp fic/series, I just also really fucking loved the Netflix adaptation of The Witcher and I will be reading the books at some point this year.
> 
> Also I might do a playlist for this fic. Undecided as of yet.
> 
> Love you!

Jaskier was _pissed_. Steaming drunk. Eyes hazy as the warmth of a pretty girl pressed against his shoulder.

But not the right warmth.

He shook himself free, made mumbled apologies and then proceeded to stumble to his room above the run-down inn he’d made his way to after he was thoroughly dismissed, _fucking tossed away_ , on the side of that mountain.

Jaskier kicked a wedge under the closed door, missed the scent of _woodsmokeleathersweatsunshine_ briefly, shed his boots and flung himself onto the cheap straw mattress, set his lute on the ground next to the bed and felt his heart ache for a moment.

_Fuck Geralt of Rivia._


	2. Novaturient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets Geralt

NOVATURIENT (adj) _desiring or seeking powerful change in one’s life, behaviour or situation_.

———————

_On second thought, probably not the best thing to be singing about._ Jaskier backed off his far-from-adoring crowd, set his lute down as gently as possible in the current situation and stooped to pick up the semi rotten and stale food that had just been pelted at him.

Life wasn’t going too well for Jaskier. He’d (technically) run away from his family; spent years working and studying at the University - had even stayed on for a few years afterwards, teaching. But Jaskier wanted more. He wanted his life to be meaningful, beautiful, _adventurous._

And that’s when he saw him.

A man, alone. Hair silver and shoulders broader than a mare’s arse, staring at the pitted wood of the rough-hewn table.

Jaskier wasn’t even aware that he was walking closer to this man, barely a conscious thought given to what came out of his mouth.

“I’m here to drink alone.”

_Magic_ , he thought, _that voice must be magic._ Nothing else could compare to it; not the rumble of thunder, or the creaking of ancient trees swaying in the wind, not the roar of an all-consuming fire or a thousand-part harmony. A voice that matched this curious man’s aura, the feeling of hostility that hung around him like smoke - _that’s exactly what it was! The smell of woodsmoke, the leather armour he wore, the sweat on his skin, the dim sunlight that filtered through the window highlighting his pronounced brow, his cheekbone, the slope of his nose and the bow of his lip._ A thousand songs could be written about this man, his fingertips itching for his quill, and Jaskier didn’t even know his name yet.

“Good, yeah - good,” _What are you_ ** _doing_** _Jaskier, shut up!_ “No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance. Except you.”Jaskier kept moving into the line of his sight. “Come on,” he was almost whining at this point. The man looked at him, appeared to sniff, then clamped his jaw shut and swallowed. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.” Jaskier stumbled over his last words. _For the sake of all that is sacred you fool! Why did you have to say that?_ It was Jaskier who swallowed this time. _Please let him speak again_. “You must have some review for me! Three words or less,” Jaskier sat, swinging himself down on the opposite bench; now only the table between them.

“They don’t exist.”

_Thank all that is - wait, what?_

“What don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song.” Jaskier fought the urge to close his eyes as the silver haired stranger spoke. Hope bloomed in his chest even still. _At least that last catastrophe wasn’t the only song he’d heard._

“And how would you know?” _Yeah, that’s great Jaskier. Challenge the man who looks like he could (and would) defenestrate you any second. What’s next? Asking him if he’s perhaps short of a marble? Well, you surely are._ The man stared at him. “Oh, fun,” Jaskier could feel his heart start to race; “White hair, big ol’ loner, two very - very scary looking swords.” The man moved forward, his armour creaked like it hadn’t been worked over in a while. He started to rise and reach for a coin purse. “I know who you are.” The man’s shadow passed over him as he lifted his swords and left the table. “You’re the Witcher.” Jaskier scurried to catch up to the man. “Geralt of Rivia. Called it!” The man gave him no indication if his guesses were true or false and simply left the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Welcome to my new fic ^.^ this chapter is pretty short as it's literally just Jaskier and Geralt meeting for the first time! I will try to write chapters in chronological order but there will always be a note somewhere or indicator in the chapter summary of who is involved in each chapter, if it's from the POV of a certain character (here is it obviously Jask, as JASKIER meets GERALT) and of our timeline, so lets make this Day One for the timeline of this story. I pretty much came up with these chapters bc I like little-used or uncommon words so I'm kind of using them for chapter guides? But I do still want this to be a full story instead of a bunch of ficlets so I'm just sort of rolling with it atm.
> 
> Con-crit always welcome! I don't have a beta so if you see any mistakes please point them out to me.
> 
> Thank you <3


	3. Cingulomania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt ponders.

CINGULOMANIA (n) _a strong desire to hold a person in your arms_

_———————_

Geralt felt his heart ache for the little bard, _his bard_ ; a fragile human life was not long enough for all that Jaskier wanted to experience.

As much as he grumbled and grunted and complained about the chattiness of his companion, he’d grown used to it in the last four years. He found himself talking to Roach more often when he and Jaskier parted ways for a while. He missed the distraction on long journeys, the gentle plucking of a lute lulling him to sleep, the sweet-tempered hands patching his wounds and massaging old snarls of scar tissue and yes, _even rubbing chamomile onto his lovely bottom_.

Jaskier was a rarity in a world filled with shit. His almost odd-coloured eyes, bright summer-sky blue woven with polished gold. He remembered the first time he had really looked the bard in his eyes, the way his heart lept thinking it might be a mutation _even if he was lying it meant he’d live longer_ , but no. Jaskier had never shown any signs of ‘other-ness’, aggressive or otherwise. His willingness to love freely, whomever he wished to; loyalty that never needed to be questioned, his true poet’s soul – the stories that spilled from his lips and ensnared anyone in hearing distance, his fearlessness _he never smelt of fear even looking directly in his black eyes, Jaskier was never afraid_.

Jaskier would live until he was sixty maybe, still a long time for humans. He had thirty-five of those years left by Geralt’s approximation. And with that weighing on his mind, Geralt fell into an uneasy sleep.

It was winter. Geralt knew he only had a few more days with Jaskier before the bard travelled to Oxenfurt and he departed to Kaer Morhen and yet Jaskier insisted that he clear this nest of Drowners first before they went to the last inn where they would separate for the season.

He trudged back towards where he’d left Jaskier, not looking forward to making camp dripping with gore. He was surprised to see the flickers of yellow between the trees, almost floored by the organisation before him – two rabbits on a spit, three already roasted and resting; the sheets of waxed fabric strung between trees on opposite sides of the fire, bedrolls already laid out. Waterskins still with errant drips on the side, Jaskier’s boots laid out to dry; a small mound of earth covering a pit of rabbit guts, the bard himself plucking the strings of his lute, traces of rosin still on his fingertips and most blessedly – the most welcome sight of all; a bucket full of water that had just started to steam nestled close to the fire, a cloth and a tiny, gleaming bottle of oil laid out, waiting.

“Hmm.” Jaskier’s head snapped up from his lute, the salt tang in the air suddenly made sense as Geralt noted his glossy, bloodshot eyes.

“Ah, dear Witcher,” Jaskier’s voice sounded normal, jovial tone and musical lilt just as always. “Did the Drowners give you any trouble?”

“Only a few more up here than usual.” Geralt hoped that the bard would read between his words. He tossed a bag of guts that would fetch a few good coin at the market to the side of their camp, unlaced the leather chest plate of his armour and dropped it, moving towards the fire.

“Honestly, Geralt. How many times have I told you about-“

“Sit.” Jaskier’s tirade was cut short by Geralt snatching his wrist away from the discarded armour and dragging him to the fire. “Eat.”

“Oh for fuc- fine, alright,” He blew out a breath that disturbed the sandy hair over his forehead, sitting down heavily. He passed the spit off the fire to Geralt. “Do you need-“

“Yes.”

“Would it kill you to let me finish a questi-“

Geralt smirked.

“Yes.”

Jaskier huffed again, tearing into the rabbit with his teeth.

“How did yo-“

“With a knife.” Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier bumped his shoulder into the Witcher’s. “Not so funny, is it?” But there was no frost to his words, just a smile on his face and a wave of _mountainriverssummerflowersdewdrops_ rolled over Geralt, who just snorted in response and turned back to his rabbit. Dinner was finished in a companionable silence.

Jaskier stood and added more dry wood to the fire, the sound of it breaking the air as the Witcher peeled off his shirt to be rinsed in the morning. He brought the bucket closer to him but it was the bard, _his bard_ , who collected the cloth and oil, settled behind Geralt and tucked a spare sheet around his waist, unflinchingly sticking his hand and the cloth into the too-warm water, squeezing out most of the excess and started cleaning the gore off the bigger man’s back.

Geralt lost time for a few moments, he only felt strong, sure hands and hot water easing not so much the ache in his body, but life into something he had long forgotten the name of. He was surprised when the cloth, hot again with fresh water was slapped into his hand as the leather of his hair tie was unwound; Jaskier doing the best he could to wash his hair. Water scooped up into his hands and poured over Geralt’s head until the worst of the blood was cleaned out, all caught on the sheet below. After untangling what was possible with his fingers, he pulled up the sheet, found a clean, dry corner and wiped it over the scarred skin in front of him, reaching around to do the same for Geralt’s torso and arms.

Still with no words spoken, Jaskier uncorked the vial of chamomile oil, dripped it onto his fingers and set to work. Kneading at Geralt’s old scar tissue, his fingers brushed over the newly healed injuries, knuckles unlocking the knots of tension; the only acknowledgement being a single grunt and Geralt’s head dropping forward towards his chest.

Jaskier only pulled away when the Witcher seemed as relaxed as he would ever get, corked the bottle once more and packed it away into his knapsack. He retrieved an apple and picked his way around the camp to where Roach was tethered, already settled for the night. He offered her the apple and pet the flash of white on her nose before walking a dozen paces away to relieve himself.

He went back to the campfire and washed his hands in the remnants of water left at the bottom of the bucket and turned to his bedroll.

“Sweet dreams, Witcher.”

“Don’t die while I’m asleep,” Geralt’s response was as dry as usual.

But sleep did not come easily to the Witcher. He spent too long staring over the fire to where Jaskier lay _too far away_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2 ^.^ 
> 
> Just to let you know, I will be massively fucking with timelines and stuff.
> 
> Also, how would anyone feel about a playlist for this fic?
> 
> Also, are we wanting Geralt/Jaskier or Geralt/Yennefer for our endgame? Bc i'm good either way. I already have a G/Y break up speech written out and I have an idea for G/J and OCs kind-of fleshed out for who doesn't end up with our grumpy-butt Witcher (they'll end up in the fic anyway probably, just not as a romantic interest) and I do have multiple options for Yenn.
> 
> Should I do this as a poll on twitter? Would that be easier?
> 
> Come yell at me there @NarahLer
> 
> Con-crit always welcome!


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